


freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this

by tolvsmol



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - College/University, Art Student Harry, Football Player Louis, M/M, Tooth-Rotting Fluff, honestly just a big fluff fest very self indulgent, louis doesnt Really play football he just messes about with some friends, theres essentially no proper plot just harry with a massive crush
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-12
Updated: 2017-06-12
Packaged: 2018-11-12 17:56:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11167068
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tolvsmol/pseuds/tolvsmol
Summary: Harry (not so) secretly crushes on the cute footie player and fills pages with sketches of him.





	freeze this moment in a frame and stay like this

**Author's Note:**

> this is my first finished larry fic and it's all fluff, enjoy.  
> follow me on [ tumblr!](https://audreil.tumblr.com/)

Harry’s attention is on the other side of the park when something hits the side of his face, blinding him momentarily in the left eye, and he hears Niall chortle, “You are so embarrassing.” Harry picks up the laptop sleeve and throws it back at Niall, who dodges it with one hand without even looking up from the screen. “He probably noticed you staring at him like a creep all the time and decided not to come anymore.”

Harry busies himself with the notes in front of him, hurriedly writing down bullets for his outline. “I don’t know what you’re on about.” A lie, of course, because he knows exactly what Niall is on talking about.

They’re sitting under the shade of a cherry blossom, a few notebooks and textbooks around them on a small blanket, Niall’s laptop in his lap. They come to the park a few times a week when the weather is nice, always finding refuge in the same spot and getting a bit of coursework done. During the last three weeks, however, Harry has had trouble getting anything done, all courtesy of a nameless boy with a sparkling laugh. Harry has only heard it a handful of times, but he’s almost certain it’s his favorite sound in the world. And he’s only seen the boy up close twice, when his football came close too close and almost knocked over Harry’s drink.

Harry shakes away the memory of those bright blue eyes and red lips, listening instead to Niall’s singsong voice when he says, “You’re, like, this deep,” and brings his palm to hover in the air by his waist. “Soon you’ll be _this_ deep,” he grins and raises his palm above his head.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re quite dramatic?” Harry quips back lamely. Really, he knows Niall is right, but that doesn’t mean Harry has to let him be aware of that.

“Only you’ve got denial shoved so far up your arse, H,” Niall deadpans. Harry doesn’t dignify himself with a response.

Truth to be told, he isn’t in denial. He knows, despite his better judgment, that he’s fallen too fast and too hard for the boy with the pretty eyes. And it isn’t that he’s embarrassed about it, either. He’s quite at ease with his sexuality – it’s just that he doesn’t even know the boy’s name and the boy certainly does not know Harry. He saw Harry those two times and neither time required the exchanging of names (or resulted in an interesting conversation), so there’s no reason for pretty boy to remember Harry.

An hour or so later when they’re gathering their belongings, Harry can’t help but glance across the park again, feeling more than a little dismayed that the boy never showed. Niall notices because of course he does and pats Harry’s head twice. “He’ll be back next time, mate, ’m sure he’s busy somewhere else.”

And, yeah, Harry knows that, but he’s still disappointed. He was looking forward to sketching his favorite footie player in this park, but apparently today isn’t the day. So he packs up his books, throws one last wistful look over his shoulder, and walks out of the park with Niall. It isn’t a quiet walk because Niall and quiet have never really been compatible. Instead, the kid talks about fifty different things in the ten minutes it takes them to walk past the little ice cream shop between the park and their flat, and Harry freezes on the sidewalk when he glances inside. As does Niall, when he notices Harry has halted.

“Want some?” he asks, nudging Harry’s shoulder, but it isn’t ice cream Harry has stopped for. A proper look through the glass has Niall grinning like a maniac. “Ah, ’course you want some.”

There, standing in the shop behind the counter, is Harry’s footie player. He’s got an apron tied around him, a pink cap on his head, and he’s serving ice cream to a trio of young girls. He appears to… not be the loud, boisterous personality Harry has associated with him. He looks rather gentle here, his enthusiastic yelling replaced with a soft smile.

“Well?” Niall shoves Harry towards the door. “Go on, then.”

“I don’t – you come with me,” Harry mumbles, cheeks flaming red. He isn’t shy, per se, but he’d be a damned liar if he said there aren't a million butterflies fluttering around his chest and in his stomach. He’s sure, if someone were to look closely enough, they could practically see his heart beating against his ribcage.

“Twenty-one years old and still need me to be your wingman?” Niall laughs, but throws an arm around Harry’s shoulders and pulls him in for a gruff hug, tucking Harry’s face in the crook of his neck. “Come on, then.”

“Just ice cream, though,” Harry says. “I’m not – not gonna ask him out here.”

“No?”

“No.” When Niall raises his eyebrows, an obvious question, Harry just shrugs. “I wanna do it proper, like, somewhere nice. Back at the park maybe, I dunno.”

Niall stares at him for a long moment before humming his approval and dragging Harry into the shop right as the three girls leave, his arm still casually wrapped around Harry’s shoulders. Footie boy smiles brightly at them, the gentle innocence apparently fading now that the young girls are gone. “What can I get you lads?” He’s got a strangely lovely voice, Harry thinks, a bit sandpaper rough but also smooth like honey. Harry could listen to it all day.

“Gonna have a look,” Niall tells him, eyes trained on the freezer in front of him. “No footie today?” he asks lightly, not bothering to look up. “Missed your loud banter at the park.”

That gets a laugh out of him and he says, “Needed a job, so footie’s gonna have to settle for Friday and the weekends, I suppose.”

“Bummer. Name’s Niall, I’ll have three scoops of the triple caramel chunk.”

“’M Louis,” Footie boy responds and Harry feels a bit giddy that he’s learned the boy’s name. Then Footie boy – Louis  – looks at Harry and Harry’s heart stutters a beat at the smile he gets. “And you, mate?”

“I’m Harry,” he says, and thank fuck, his voice doesn't falter. “I’ll, uh, take two scoops of milk & cookies.”

Louis busies himself with scooping their ice creams as Niall pipes up, “Say, Louis, if a pretty bloke wanted to get laid by you, what’s he gotta do?” Louis’ head whips up and Harry just about has an aneurysm right there, his heart going a million miles an hour.

“Bit forward, aren’t ya?” Louis’ grinning, his eyes alight when he passes Niall his massive order.

“Nah, not me,” Niall says and Harry steps on his foot, rather hard, in warning. Niall’s easy smile doesn't waver. “A friend of mine, actually. Too chicken to step up.”

This time, Louis laughs in earnest and Harry wants to bottle up the sound so he can get drunk on it. “Just ask me, if he’s pretty. Might say yes.”

Louis’ focused on getting Harry’s ice cream ready, so he misses it when Niall looks Harry up and down, mouth curly in a malicious grin. “Very pretty, I promise. Big Bambi eyes and curly hair. Killer mouth, too.” Harry’s keeps his own pleasant smile plastered on his face. Niall will get what’s coming to him when they leave the shop in a minute. “Bit of an art hoe, though.”

Louis hands Harry his cup and nods at the cash register. All three of them shuffle over to it. “Sounds like a catch,” Louis says around an enticing smile. Harry wants to capture it with his own. “Tell him to draw me and we can talk.”

If it were possible for a human heart to spontaneously burst into teeny pieces, this is the moment Harry’s would explode. Louis rings them up, Harry and Niall pay for their treats, and if Harry thinks Louis winked at him then he isn’t going to bring it up. As soon as they leave the shop, Harry snatches Niall’s cup and smashes all three scoops of delicious ice cream in Ni’s face.

“Thanks for being a complete twat,” he smiles at a sputtering Niall. He can hear Louis’ laughter through the open door, but doesn't dare risk a glance. Harry takes a spoonful of his ice cream and offers it to Niall with a mirthful smile, who mutters something under his breath and walks back inside the shop. Harry remains where he is, quietly eating his dessert. He knows he probably should not have done that, but then again, Niall shouldn’t have flirted with Louis on Harry’s behalf – he’s very capable of doing that himself, thank you very much. So when Niall comes out of the shop with his face wiped clean, Harry politely asks, “Ready to go home, love?”

“Tosser,” Niall grumbles and steals a scoop of Harry’s ice cream. On the way back to the flat, which isn’t even ten minutes away from the shop, Niall eats most of the ice cream and Harry lets him. At least he’s shut up about Louis and Harry’s feelings about Louis and Harry’s inability to function around Louis. He’s sulky all the way back, and a for a good half hour after that, but it’s alright. He soon starts up again about a toga party some girl invited him to and shamelessly extends the invitation to Harry, who adamantly refuses to go. He isn’t bloody foolish – not enough to willing up at a toga party.

In the end, Harry spends his night in front of the telly, his notes for tomorrow’s exam haphazardly laid out around him – not that he pays much attention to them. He dedicates, maybe, half an hour going over the concepts he finds more challenging than others before the exam is shoved to the back of his mind and his sketchbook is again perched on his knees. It’s a bit embarrassing, honestly, the number of pages he’s devoted to Louis in just three weeks: the dip of his waist when he’s kicking a ball, the sensual curve of his mouth, the glittering blue eyes that Harry can’t burn from his mind, the dainty fingers as they picked up the football from near Harry.

Truth be told, Harry isn’t one to draw the same person over and over again – besides Niall, but that doesn’t count because Niall is always around for Harry to practice and it means nothing. Normally, when Harry draws people, it’s when someone catches his eye on the train or while he’s waiting for a class to begin – almost always someone Harry doesn’t see again, or recognizes.

 _I’m fucked_ , Harry realizes with a flutter in his chest. All he can think about is red lips and blue eyes and a laugh that shines brighter than any star in the night sky.

* * *

 

The next day Harry isn’t able to go to the park or stop by the ice cream to see Louis. His exam runs later than he expected, then his professor is almost twenty minutes late to their meeting regarding Harry’s progress on his portfolio. The meeting itself is, well, frankly, it’s a bit shit. It’s not that Harry’s portfolio is lacking creativity or originality; it’s just that it’s lacking the masterpiece that should be front and center on display at the art exhibit – that is in a little more than two months. He knows he’ll get it done in time, he always does, but he just hasn’t the slightest idea what he wants to do.

All in all, it isn’t an ideal day, not by a long shot, and Harry fleetingly thinks about going to the shop anyway; he knows it would make him feel better. Then he remembers that he doesn’t know Louis’ work schedule, so he might be making a detour for absolutely nothing and it just isn’t worth it, not when he’s this knackered. So he trudges home, dragging his feet up the stairs to his and Niall’s shared flat, ready to bury himself in the sofa and not move for the foreseeable future.

When he steps inside the flat, however, he’s greeted by the sight of Louis sat on his sofa – in _his_ spot – bare feet propped up on the small coffee table in front of him. A beer bottle is held loosely in one hand, the other scrolling his phone. He looks up when the door open and flashes Harry a wide smile. “Hiya, Harry,” he says at the same time Harry hears, “Is that Harry?” called from the kitchen.

Harry does not know what Louis is doing in his flat, but his wits come back to him after a beat too long and he smiles back. “Hi, Louis.” Then, before he can ask the obvious question, Niall saunters out of the kitchen with a bottle of beer in his own hand and carrying a big bowl of crisps. “Hey, Ni.”

“Come on, then,” Niall says in lieu of greeting. Of course, he doesn’t bother explaining why Louis is in their flat. “Just in time. Put your shit away, the match’s about to start.”

Harry vaguely remembers Niall mentioning something about a footie match tonight, but it’s a bit too much for his exhausted brain to remember who’s playing, especially with Louis’ sudden, unexpected presence thrown into the mix to unnerve Harry. Harry goes into his bedroom and drops his belongings on his bed, changing into a white shirt and joggers before joining the boys.

He hesitates. He really, really would like some sleep, preferably on his end of the sofa, but he doesn’t want to fall asleep and be rude the first time Louis is here. Before he can decide what he wants to do, Niall must notice him lingering near the sofa and nudges Louis. “Oi, you’re in his Harry’s spot. Scoot over.”

Harry’s feels his entire face flush when Louis throws a glance at him with a whispered “Sorry,” then moves to sit in the middle of the sofa with Niall on his other side. Harry ambles over to the sofa and curls up the empty space, legs tucked under him and cheek pressed into the sofa, eyes on the screen. He’s hyperaware of the proximity between him and Louis, can practically feel Louis’ body heat, but he doesn’t dare move.

“You alright, mate?” he hears Louis ask, and tears his gaze from the telly to look at Louis. Louis is gazing at him with a mildly concerned expression, brows knitted together and blue eyes impossibly soft.

 _You’re so gorgeous_ , he wants to say. _Please kiss me_ , he wants to say. _Hold me until I fall asleep in your arms,_ he wants to say. “Just tired,” he says.

“Ordered Chinese earlier,” Niall tells him. “Should be here soon.” Then he slaps a hand on Louis’ thigh and gets up from the sofa. “Switch with me, Lou, m’ boy needs me.” And once again, Louis moves down the sofa so he’s sitting on the opposite end as Harry, Niall in between them. Harry feels a twinge of disappointment, just a flare of annoyance at his best friend for being such a royal pain in the arse, but then Niall pats his lap. “Come here, then. ‘M not gonna wait all day.”

And just like that, any hint of irritation he may he felt – gone. He maneuvers his body so he can put his head in Niall’s lap, his long legs now dangling over the arm rest. Niall’s fingers find their way in his hair and massage his scalp; Harry tries to keep his eyes open, wants to keep looking at Louis and catalogue every little detail for the future. But Niall knows what he’s doing, has done it many times before, and Harry doesn’t remember when he drifts off to sleep, phantom touches caressing his face in his dreams.

*

When Harry wakes up, it’s to the sound of a soft voice saying his name. He doesn’t recognize it, not at first, and just snuggles further into the sofa. Then there’s a hand brushing his hair back from his forehead, fingers brushing against his brow bone, and Harry’s eyes flutter open to find Louis smiling at him. His own eyebrows are raised just a tad, voice quiet as he says, “Mornin’, sunshine. It’s time for dinner.”

 _Dinner._ Harry doesn’t particularly feel like eating, as his heart is in his throat at how close Louis is, how _good_ he smells. Their legs are touching under the afghan that’s now covering Harry – must’ve been Niall’s doing.

As though he knew Harry was thinking of him, Niall’s voice comes through from the kitchen. “Is he awake, then?” There’s the distinct sound of cutlery clattering together. “Harry, come in here and help me.”

Harry rubs sleep from his eyes. He still very much doesn’t want to be awake, doesn’t want to think about his shit day, but he gets up from the sofa nonetheless and heads to the kitchen, Louis hot on his heels. _I’ll have a stroke_ , Harry thinks, _if you keep following me and I can’t touch you_. Good thing no one can hear him think.

Niall has laid out three plates, none of which have food in them, and too many forks and spoons. There are four cartons of food on the table, as well. “Niall, we don’t need plates for this,” Harry says, because Niall is never the one to make dinner. Harry would be surprised if Niall knows how to put together a bloody sandwich. He hopes he never has to find out. instead of situating themselves at the same dining table, the three boys carry their food back to the sofa and set it on the coffee table.

A few minutes later, Harry can’t keep a handle on his curiosity. “So, Louis, why are you here?” The moment the words leave his mouth, he regrets them. Face flushed, Harry stammers on, “Not like – not that I mind, I just, like, I didn’t know that you’re, uh, friends with Niall.”

“I wasn’t.” Harry doesn’t dare look at him, but he thinks Louis is smirking, and can imagine his lips tugged up playfully. “Guess we are now. He stopped by the shop today and asked if I wanted to watch the match with him. Didn’t have anything better to do, so I said yes. And now here I am.”

Harry glances up, just because he can’t help it, and fuck, Louis is beautiful. He’s sitting on a chair he dragged over, his head bent over his plate as he takes another bite. When he lifts his head, some of his hair falls into his eyes and Harry has the urge to lean forward and brush it away, run his hands through it. Louis smiles then, and Harry thinks, _you smile a lot,_ and p _lease don’t ever stop._

“You’re both very hospitable,” Louis grins.

That gets a cackle out of Niall, who nudges Harry with his shoulder. “Utter load of shit, that is. Never before has Harry fallen ‘sleep on a guest and look what he did today.” He lets out a mock sigh. “Proper embarrassed me.”

Harry’s already red face burns and he wishes the earth would crack open and swallow him whole. He grimaces at Louis. “Sorry about that. Was just a shit day and I’m tired.”

Louis waves a hand dismissively. “Come to the shop next time you feel shit and I’ll give you ice cream. My treat.”

“Atta boy.” Niall claps Harry’s shoulder. “Feel shit more often, I’ll tag along for moral support.”

“Nah, that won’t be necessary,” Louis says with a somber shake of his head, a hint of a smile playing at his lips like he’s fighting hard not to laugh. “You come alone, Harry, I’m good at moral support.”

Harry blushes. He thinks – wants to believe – he knows what just happened; Louis just asked him out. But he’s too embarrassed by Niall making fun of him to really be sure.

“You’re a menace, Harry,” grumbles Niall.

And because he’s a literal child, because he can’t ever stop himself, he puts on his best Daniel Radcliffe impression and dramatically turns to Niall. “I’m a what?”

Niall actually throws his head back and groans, while Louis laughs a bright laugh that has Harry smiling so big he can feel the indent of his dimples against his teeth. “That is a timeless classic, Harold, and I’m proud of you,” Louis says to him, and Harry doesn’t have the heart to tell him that timeless and classic is redundant. So he just memorizes the sound of Louis’ laugh, the crinkles by his eyes, and hopes that he becomes the reason for that smile.

* * *

 

Two weeks later, Harry’s standing outside the ice cream shop, bottom lip pulled between his teeth. He was about to go in, about to ask Louis for two scoops. He was going to say, “Surprise me,” with a dimpled smile that makes Louis’ eyes shine a bit brighter. But then he saw one of the boys who plays footie with Louis in the park, saw him take Louis’ face in both hands and plant a kiss on Louis’ head, saw him lean against the counter and lick his waffle cone, saw Louis laugh with him.

And now Harry’s standing outside the shop, his heart in his stomach, a lump in his throat. If Louis’ taken, then Harry needs to leave and stop spending his time thinking about someone who’s off the market. He needs to stop thinking about Louis’ hand in his hair, ruffling it the first time Harry came here alone. Louis listening to him talk about some of his work, the pieces he wants to display at the exhibition. Louis asking him to close his eyes and feeding him a spoonful of ice cream, making him guess the flavors.

He’s about to turn away, about to leave and go home, when Louis catches his eye through the glass and motions for him to come inside.

Harry doesn’t have a choice in the matter. He walks in.

“Harry, m’ boy!” Louis is positively beaming. It twists Harry’s heart a little. “Why’d you look so sad? Cheer up, love.” He nods to the boy who kissed him a few minutes ago, who’s smiling politely at Harry. “Payno was just leaving, weren’t you, Payno?”

Payno – strange name, Harry thinks – shares a look with Louis that Harry doesn’t understand. “Sure was. Nice meeting you, Harry. Heard loads about you from Lou.”

Harry blinks. Smiles a bit. His chest flutters. _Does Louis talk about me?_

“Okay!” Louis comes around the freezer, pushes Payno towards the door. “Bye now, Liam! Have a safe trip home, ya big oaf!” Payno – Liam – is laughing all the way to the door, and when Louis turns back to Louis, his cheeks are tinted rather pink, and Harry thinks, _you’re so lovely._

“Was that your boyfriend, Lou?” he asks, keeping his voice light and joking. Not at all like Louis’ answer has the potential to cleave his fragile heart down the middle. “Cheeky little kiss he gave you.”

Eyes a little too wide, Louis flushes a shade darker. “Liam’s me best friend,” he says. He walks back to his place behind the freezer, tugging gently at Harry’s hair on his way. “Promised to drive him to Liverpool, so it was a thank you kiss.” Then he looks at Harry, his eyes glittering and expression solemn. “No boyfriend, unfortunately. Gonna have to fix that soon – gettin’ a bit bored of goin’ to bed alone.”

The way he’s staring at Harry – eyes sparkling with mirth and a smile fighting to break free – makes Harry feel like his heart might collapse.

 _It’s now or never, Harry,_ he thinks to himself. Waiting until they’re both at the park at the same time can go to hell because Harry’s patience has long since disappeared. “Speaking of,” he starts, watching Louis scoop two different flavors into a cup for him, topping it with rainbow sprinkles. He holds it out for Harry and Harry’s only thought is _why why why do you leave me tongue-tied?_ Because Harry never had trouble asking anyone out before. It came so naturally to him, and now here he is standing in front a boy with his heart ready to beat out of his chest.

Harry accepts his ice cream, then steels himself. _Fuck it._

“You can laugh at me if you want,” he starts again, unable to meet Louis’ eyes. “Hell, I’m kind of laughing at myself, but, uh, would you like to, uh, maybe go to dinner with me some time?”

And then there’s silence. For one, two, five beats and Harry’s entire face is on fire and he wants to dig himself a hole to crawl into. When the silence turns from momentary to dead awkward, Harry peers at Louis from under his eyelashes – only to find Louis smiling like Father Christmas just blessed him.

“Took you long enough, didn’t it,” he says, “Thought Niall would have to do the asking – again.”

And Harry’s relief is so palpable, all he can do is mumble a bashful “Shut up.”

“Of course, I’ll get dinner with you,” Louis says finally when he’s had his fun with Harry. “We can even go tonight, if you want; I’ll be closing the shop in a bit.”

And, yes, Harry would like that. He doesn’t have any special plans for the night, and he can tell Niall he’s busy. Niall will understand, he’s sure. He’ll have a thousand questions to answer when he gets back home, but for now it doesn’t matter. Harry can’t contain the smile that keeps breaking through as he eats his ice cream and watches Louis clean up the place.

“I’ll be wearing me work clothes, though,” Louis calls over his shoulder at one point. “Didn’t know I’d be scoring a date tonight, so didn’t bother bringing a squeaky-clean shirt along.”

“’S alright, you look great.” And he does. He’s put away his apron, and is left in white shirt with a small ice cream cone embroidered on the left breast pocket. Paired with a pair of black jeans, Harry thinks he looks beautiful. And it isn’t like Harry himself is dressed to nines. He’s got on a black jumper, black jeans that are bordering on grey from being washed so much, and suede boots.

“Flattery,” Louis says slowly, looking over his shoulder with an absolutely devilish grin, “will get you everywhere.”

 _I want to kiss you_ , Harry thinks for what feels like the thousandth time, and is once again grateful that Louis doesn’t have access to his thoughts. How embarrassing that would be.

*

Two hours later, Louis’ walking Harry back home. Harry insisted that he’s fine, that if they’re gonna walk each other home, it should be Harry walking Louis; after all, it was Harry who asked Louis out. But Louis simply said, “Let’s save that for next time,” blissfully unaware that his words wreaked havoc on Harry’s pathetically hopeless heart. _It’s not even mine anymore,_ he thinks, _it’s yours now please don’t break it_.

So here they are, walking back from the pizza place they ended up in twenty minutes after they left the ice cream shop. Louis’ telling a story about his six siblings, and he’s proper animated, but his hand keeps brushing against Harry’s every once in a while. Their hips keep bumping into each other, shoulders knocking together. Neither of them apologize for it. It makes Harry’s heart flutter.

When they finally reach Harry’s building, he turns to face Louis. “Gonna walk me up to the door, too?” He pulls his bottom lip between his teeth, tries to hide his smile, and fails.

“Think you can manage not to trip on your own feet for two minutes,” is Louis’ response. He’s peering up at Harry in that way of his that Harry has grown so used to in the last two weeks. Eyes bright, smile full of mirth. But there’s something… softer about him in this moment, something imperceptibly gentler. Maybe it’s the windswept hair, or the hands shoves in his back pockets. Maybe it’s the rose-tinted cheeks. Whatever it is, Harry reaches out to his face before the thought is even formed. His fingers brush along Louis’ jaw and there’s a flutter in Louis’ eyelashes. It makes Harry smile. “This is usually the part of a date where I’d go for a goodbye kiss,” Louis says, voice quiet. Harry feels his skip a beat. “But let’s skip that for tonight.”

Harry’s smile vanishes. It feels like Louis just slapped him across the face. “You don’t… you don’t want to kiss me?” He wonders if Louis can hear his whispered words.

Louis’ smile doesn’t disappear, but it changes. Becomes impossibly softer, somehow. He takes Harry’s hand away from his face and into his own, linking their fingers together. “Aw, Harry, you big baby. ‘Course I wanna kiss you.” And a knot in Harry’s chest loosens, but his heart still feels wrung out. “We’ll do this again, yeah? Well, not _this._ I’ll take you out on a proper date, all nice and fancy in me car. Bring you flowers, maybe. Then kiss you goodnight on your doorstep like a proper gentleman.”

It’s dark out now, yes, but Harry’s certain Louis can see him blushing. “Well, go on, then. Goodbye. I’ll see you when you pick me up for that proper date.”

Louis laughs, squeezes Harry’s hand once, and takes a step closer – stands on his tippy toes and presses his lips to Harry’s cheek. “Goodnight, Harry Styles.”

Harry’s skin burns where Louis’ lips were a moment ago. “Goodnight, Louis Tomlinson,” he whispers.

* * *

 

Three days later, Harry’s sitting under the cherry blossom again, eyes flickering from his sketchbook to the group of boys running about. Louis isn’t one of them, even though it’s Friday and he doesn’t have work. He probably should’ve texted Louis to make sure he was coming, instead of sitting here like a loser and waiting for someone who might not show. Niall’s meeting up with some people for a group presentation, so Harry’s here alone.

He turns his phone on to text Louis when a hand presses into his back and Harry almost jumps out of his skin. The sound of Louis’ laughter fills his head, then Louis drops next to him from behind, and ruffles his hair. “Hello, Harold.”

“Don’t _do_ that,” Harry reprimands halfheartedly, pressing a hand dramatically to his chest.

“Where’s Niall?”

“Busy with a presentation.” Harry moves to put away his materials, but Louis’ hand darts to stop him before he can stow away the sketchbook.

“Are you – are you drawing me, Harry?” Harry’s face burns crimson, but he doesn’t make to stop Louis from flipping through the sketches. There’s so much of Louis is these pages. Louis’ eyes, Louis’ lips, Louis’ hands, the freckle on his nose and a few on his cheek, Louis standing behind the freezer, Louis sprawled out on Harry and Niall’s sofa. _Louis Louis Louis._

“Aw, babe,” Louis practically coos as he flicks through the pages. “If you want something from me, you can just ask, I don’t mind if you draw me – ‘m a bit flattered, actually.”

And Harry’s a little embarrassed at having been caught like this, but he’d let this happen a thousand times if it meant Louis would smile like this, would glow like this. “Can I ask you to kiss me?” Harry asks, flashing Louis a dimpled smile.

Louis grins back. “Using me own words against me, huh?” But he moves into Harry’s spaces and presses a kiss to his nose, nonetheless. And Harry doesn’t mean to, but he pouts like the child he is and leans in for more, knowing Louis won’t cave. Sure enough, Louis lets their noses brush, runs a hand through Harry’s hair, traces the shape of his bottom lip with a thumb. “Patience is a virtue,” he reminds Harry. Then he gives the sketchbook back and stands up. “Come on. I’m taking you somewhere. Don’t ask, because I don’t know where yet.”

Harry packs up his things and accepts the hand Louis offers to help him to his feet. Instead of walking, Louis tugs Harry close to his body. He brings a hand to brush against Harry’s cheek, his blue eyes darker than usual. The hand on Harry’s cheek moves to slide his glasses farther up the bridge of his nose. A rogue smile dances on Louis’ face. “Patience is a virtue, Harry,” he whispers, “but I’ve never been particularly virtuous.”

And he kisses Harry.

In all his twenty-one years of life, Harry hasn’t had a kiss quite this sickeningly sweet. Louis’ hands are in Harry’s hair, tugging gently, and his lips are so, so soft. Feather light. He tastes of oranges. He presses four kisses to Harry’s mouth, their teeth knocking together because they’re grinning more than kissing and Harry feels like his heart might burst at the seams.

When they pull apart, still wrapped around each other, there’s a light in Louis’ eyes that Harry hasn’t seen before. _I want to make you look like that every day_ , he thinks. “What happened to being a proper gentleman after the proper date?” he asks.

Louis kisses him again, this time a soft press of his lips to Harry’s temple as he walks them out of the park. “It was them curls, I’m tellin’ ya. They seduced me.” To emphasize, he tugs on a stray curl and wraps it around a finger. “So lovely, you are.”

They end up going nowhere but Louis’ living room, piled on top of each of other as they pretend to watch the film. Really, they watch each other the entire time, stealing kisses every other minute and laughing at their own absurdity. Harry has a pen in one hand, doodling on Louis as per his request. _H_ _❤ L,_ he draws on Louis’ forehead.

 _I think I could love you one day,_ Harry thinks. And he pours that thought in the next kiss he presses to Louis’ forehead and hopes Louis feels it.

**Author's Note:**

> [fic post is here if you would like to reblog!](https://rosesau.tumblr.com/post/161821247431/freeze-this-moment-in-a-frame-and-stay-like-this)


End file.
